La revedere
by Virgo Writer
Summary: Five times Sasha Belov didn't leave Payson Keeler. Payson/Sasha


**La revedere**

It's two memes for the price of one. Five things + shuffle challenge (although not really seeing as I selected the songs, but artificial selection is consistent with the meme metaphor so I'll let it stand).

Disclaimer: I don't own Make It or Break It or any of the songs.

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Summary: Five times Sasha Belov _didn't _leave Payson Keeler. Payson/Sasha

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La revedere

**I. Twenty Good Reasons – Thirsty Merc**  
_And at that point  
There was no pain_**  
**_There was no rain  
All there was, was you and your sweet face_

The parents talked at each other arguing about what place he could have in their ranks. They talked like they were the one's doing him some sort of favour, allowing him to make a name for himself in their gym.

It was the reason why he'd left gymnastics to begin with (well, that and Emilia). He couldn't stand the politics that came packaged with most gyms. It wasn't enough to simply coach their girls and help them reach their potential. Instead he had to sweet talk them into letting him stay.

He hadn't been there an hour and he'd already had enough of it. The slim possibility of developing the next great Olympian simply wasn't worth sitting around in a stuffy room with a bunch of parents who thought they knew better than he did.

So he left.

Not that any of them noticed. He could still hear them arguing about god-knows-what as he slammed the door behind him, leaving them to solve the lack-of-coach problem without him. Clearly he wasn't needed here – who had any need for a gold medal winning international gymnastics coach in a gym full of busy-body, know-it-all parents? Apparently they could work it all out for themselves.

His exit did not go unnoticed, however. Not by those that mattered.

And there she was – Payson Keeler. The very reason he'd even considered coming here – begging him to stay.

He couldn't deny the need he read in her expression, just as he couldn't deny her pleas.

"Do you think you can convince the grownups to stop fighting?" he asked, squinting at the sun lit behind her like a halo.

She grinned back at him, a smile that more or less sealed his fate. "That shouldn't be a problem."

* * *

**II. Man Who Can't Be Moved – The Script  
**_Going back to the corner, where I first saw you  
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag, I'm not gonna move_

He kept watching the door long after she left – dutiful Summer taking Payson back to where she belonged – as though there was a part of him still holding on. A part still hoping that she'd give it one last go and convince him to come back to The Rock.

He knew that if Payson Keeler walked through those doors again he wouldn't think twice. He'd let her convince him. Wouldn't even put up a fight this time.

Because it was what he wanted. And the only thing he needed to change his mind was for her to tell him that he hadn't ruined her – that he hadn't destroyed any chance of her getting to the Olympics, that she couldn't get there without him.

That she needed him.

The medal she'd left behind was still in his hands, his fingers tracing the familiar ridges of his all-around gold medal. For years the thing had been tainted by the relationship breakdown with Marty and MJ. Yet for a brief moment in time Payson had allowed it to stand for something more, something good and hopeful. Now he looked at it and all he could see was the hurt he'd caused – how much he had tainted those girls with his presence.

He wanted to throw the damned thing into the Danube and watch it sink to the bottom.

It was nothing but a useless lump of metal now. A reminder of the coward he'd become.

He wished he could turn it back into the symbol of hope it had become in her hands. Wished he could go back and fix the things he'd broken, that he could re-do his time in Boulder to fix the worst of his mistakes.

Mostly he wished he could forget the disappointment etched on her face as she returned his medal to him.

He was out of the bar before the thought had even fully formed, yelling back his resignation to Uncle Luca. He had to finish what he'd started, even if that meant returning to The Rock and begging Steve Tanner for his job back.

He'd promised Payson that he would be there every step of the way – that he'd get her to the Olympics by this unlikely path – and this was the one promise he wasn't prepared to break.

* * *

**III. The Weary Kind – Ryan Bingham  
**_And this ain't no place for the weary kind  
This ain't not place to lose your mind  
This ain't no place to fall behind  
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try_

2012 was a good year for American Gymnastics and an even better year for The Rock. The American Women's Artistic Gymnastics Team had taken gold in the team competition, beating their closest rivals by a significant margin, followed by a near sweep of the individual medals. Gold on Beam for Lauren Tanner. Bronze in the All-Around and Vault for Kaylie Cruz. Silver on Uneven Bars for last minute underdog Jordan Randall.

And then there was Payson Keeler. Gold in the All-Around. Gold, and a personal best, on Floor. Gold on the Uneven Bars. Bronze on Beam.

Payson Keeler was a champion. The champion. And now the rest of the world knew it just as he did the first time he saw her take to the floor.

He gave a sigh of relief as he felt the weight of his promise lift from his shoulders. He'd done exactly what he'd said he would, he'd brought her to the Olympics and seen her through the pageantry that followed such an astounding win. And now he was back in Boulder packing up his office (already half-empty from Kim Keeler's pre-Olympic departure) and getting ready to go back to his quiet solitude.

No more dealing with Steve Tanner and the drama that seemed to so much a part of The Rock. No more kowtowing to parents who thought that they should be involved in his every decision. No more having his precious time leeched away by gymnasts (and their parents) who had as much chance of making the next Olympics as he did.

He'd grown tired and world worn during his time at The Rock, the near constant drama taking a toll on his nerves. The break was a much needed one, the distance giving him the chance to remember why he'd gotten into coaching to begin with.

It didn't used to be about gold medals and Olympic hopefuls. That's all it was now – who would be the next Payson Keeler or Austin Tucker? He used to love coaching and gymnastics. Now he couldn't remember why.

Somehow he wasn't surprised when the opening chords of a well-loved coda suddenly broke the silence of the empty gym. Payson's floor music – the routine that secured her place in history – blared from the speakers accompanied by the familiar padding of feet against the springy floor. Sounds so familiar that he knew the exact moment where she deviated.

He stepped out onto the platform to investigate the sudden change in her routine, and there she was in just a singlet and leggings performing the most basic tricks in her repertoire. Handstands. Walkovers. Round offs. Basic jumps and turns.

It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

She continued long after the music ended, giving no indication that she'd seen him there watching. And yet he was sure she must have, because the tricks got harder, more creative in their combinations, and she knew damn well that he'd have her head for trying that sort of thing without a spotter.

When she finally stopped she was breathing heavily, staring up at him with a desperate expression.

He didn't need her to say it – could read it in her eyes as much as he could that first day.

"_Don't go,"_ she pleaded.

"I know I've already asked so much of you, Sasha," she continued, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But I need to ask one more favour.

"_Stay_," she said. "I need you."

He nodded, turned back to his office and began his unpacking.

It turned out there was still something to love about gymnastics.

* * *

**IV. Kiss Me Slowly – Parachute  
**_When the time comes  
Baby don't run  
Just kiss me slowly_

This time he should have seen it coming.

He could admit that she'd blind-sided him the first time, taken him completely by surprise. But this time he'd been given fair warning and he hadn't stopped her.

This time it took him a good thirty seconds before he pushed her away.

He wrenched himself away from her with great difficulty, his body protesting the action and fighting against each movement. Being there, having her in his arms, her body pressed against his, and her lips moving with his, it had been the closest he'd ever felt to perfection and he was loathe to leave it.

But of course he had to. _It's wrong,_ he reminded himself, pushing away the feeling of warmth and completeness that told him otherwise. _So very, very wrong._

He opened his eyes slowly, expecting to see the same startled expression that she'd worn the first time she'd kissed him. Instead what he saw was what he'd always thought of as Payson Keeler's stubborn face – lips pursed, eyes narrowed, brows drawn. Payson was ready for a fight.

"We can't do this," he tried, wishing he hadn't sounded quite so breathless when he finally managed to speak.

Her expression was unmoved as she gave a rather blasé, "why?" in response.

He hadn't expected that.

His brain was fuzzy and he struggled to recall the exact reasons why it was so bad for him to be going around kissing Payson Keeler. He was sure he must have had some pretty good reasons. Good enough that they'd kept him from kissing her almost every day for the last three months.

"I'm your boss," he argued.

Payson gave a disgruntled scoff. "Since when?"

"I have more experience than you do, that makes me your superior," he offered weakly, cowering a little to her fierce expression. He'd called her his co-head coach (not his assistant coach) right from the beginning, and there was no changing that now.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at his weak excuses. "Next."

"I'm twelve years older than you," he reminded her.

"So?" she answered blandly. "I don't care how old you are. Do you care that I'm only nineteen?"

"No," he answered, not needing to think it over and wishing he'd cared even a little. He hadn't thought of Payson Keeler as a teenager since that day in Snagov when she told him what for. Payson was as much an adult as he was, and more so than him most of the time.

"I'm no good for you, Payson," he tried one more time, suddenly feeling every one of his thirty-one years. He was world worn, scarred from loves (what he'd thought were loves at the time) that preceded her. In the end, he'd only bring her down to his level.

Payson shook her head at him, her hands coming up to rest on his cheeks as she forced him to meet her steady gaze. "That's my choice to make," she told him, leaning forward to gently press her lips to his for a brief moment.

"This isn't going away," she told him. "You can't run away from it just because you're afraid you'll end up hurting me."

"You know I will," he said in a ragged whisper, closing his eyes.

She pressed her lips to his cheek and he could feel her smiling against his skin.

"Then I think I'll take my chances."

* * *

**V. Mine – Taylor Swift  
**_Braced myself for the Goodbye  
'Cause that's all I've ever known  
Then you took me by surprise  
You said "I'll never leave you alone"_

Sasha let the door slam shut behind him, feeling somewhat venerated when it hit the jam with enough force to make the house give a small shudder. It was better he take the anger out on the house fittings than that he end up saying something he'd regret later once the fire was out of him.

He just needed a moment to breathe, to step back from the situation and let his anger cool. The conversation had started off as a discussion about the NGO's meddling ways, but somehow escalated into a shouting match dragging up all manner of sins from one another's pasts. His were more iniquitous, but hers more recent and relevant, putting them on even footing for once.

_For once,_ he repeated bitterly, thinking of all the ways that his past could be held against him. He'd always have more skeletons in his closet than she did. No matter how long they stayed together, she'd never catch up to him and all his mistakes.

And perhaps this was one more mistake, being with Payson when he knew it was wrong. If they could get so heated over something as trifling and unimportant as the NGO, how bad would it get when they had something that actually mattered to fight about? Like whether they should get married. Or what school they should send the kids to.

Perhaps he should just get out while he still could, before he was in too deep. Save himself the hurt that would inevitably come if he held on too long. Get away before Payson wised up and realized he wasn't worth the risk.

_It shouldn't be so hard,_ his mind supplied insidiously, clinging to the dark path his thoughts had taken. He reacted violently, wanting to physically tear the idea from his head as he rejected it as soon as it came to mind. If there was one thing he'd learnt from gymnastics, it was that anything that was worth doing would be anything but easy.

This wasn't the end. This was just a bump along the road. Something that was to be expected when you got two people as stubborn as Payson and himself together in the same room for more than half an hour. She'd rebelled against him almost immediately when he was her coach (once she'd gotten over being in awe of him), and this wasn't really any different. Where it mattered they'd find a way to compromise, just as they had in the past, and where it didn't they simply accept each other's positions.

Feeling a sense of equilibrium and calm return, he turned back towards the house. Payson stood in the doorway, her expression a mixture of distress and relief.

"You can't just walk out in the middle of a fight," she said sternly, although her eyes betrayed her. Seeing the distraught expression in her eyes made his stomach turn at even entertaining the thought of leaving.

"I know," he said lowly, walking back towards her. She met him half-way, standing in the driveway in her bare feet wearing her jammies and his shabby looking dressing gown.

He touched her cheek gently, a gesture meant to reassure her. "I'm done running," he told her, the words as much for her as they were for the small part of him that still thought it was easier to run than to stay and fight.

"I love you, Payson," he said, kissing her softly.

In an instant the fight, and whatever it had been about, was forgotten.

"I love you too, Sasha."

.

.

.

In the end, she was the one who left him.

He'd been by her side for nearly thirty years – for about half of his life – and now it was all gone, torn away from him in an instant. All the fights that still made his head spin. The lazy mornings in bed when he'd savoured every touch of her body to his. Watching their three children grow-up in a house they'd made a home.

All of it come to nothing for that one moment.

She'd fought, because Payson Keeler was a fighter. Fought to stay with him, to stay by his side, to watch their son get married and their daughters fall in love.

In the end she went quickly. Here one moment and gone the next.

But when he closed his eyes, he could still see her. Smiling beautifully with tears in her eyes.

"_You didn't think you'd be rid of me that easily?"_ she asked him, her smile mischievous.

He smiled at her spectre; his own eyes dry of tears. He had no more left to cry.

"I love you," he told her, just like he had many times before. Just as he'd told her every day for twenty-six years.

"_I love you too."_

_FIN._


End file.
